Much ado about balls.

Today some of the neighbor children were playing in the back yard with Kane, Jude, and Reed. I was attempting to straighten up inside when Kane came in with teary eyes and asked if I could please tell their friend D to go home. I asked him what was going on.

"Well, a minute ago Earl elbowed me in the back. That didn't hurt too bad, but then just now D punched me in the balls."

I have to tell you, there are very few things in life that render me completely unable to speak. Get out your camera and take a picture, because this is one of them.

While we're on the subject, last Thursday Kristi was here and we were getting Reed ready for bed. He was in the tub and telling a really long story that we couldn't really understand. He kept leaning back on his hands and lifting his hips out of the water, and we eventually discerned that he was talking about falling down and hurting his little boy area. Then, when he stopped talking and Kristi and I just sat there staring at him, he was forced to say, "MY DICK." Like, "GOOD LORD, do I have to spell it out for you?"

We were like, RIGHT. EXACTLY. We managed to distract him onto another subject, but the moment is forever burned into my brain.

I can't wait until he's sixteen and I can send links to this blog to his girlfriend.

"hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

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Originally uploaded by buffpuff

I'm waiting patiently for my ribs to heal. This has happened before, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

I'm really excited about our show at Speakeasy on April 17. It feels really good to be working towards something. Jason is working on some amazing paintings, and I have a whole lot of new jewelry to show off. We have a new lens and it's amazing; we've been hired to photograph a few upcoming weddings, and I'm feeling good about the future.

Jason's infinitely rad brother fixed his car, so we don't have to worry about that. Jason is about to fix the plumbing, so we're about to not have to worry about that.

Things get rough around here sometimes, and I'm lucky that I am surrounded by people who care and want to know what's going on and want to help. It's like a roller coaster- I feel bad and worried, and then I feel good and hopeful.

My karma is loving me, and I'm loving it back. I work hard to take care of three little people who aren't able to do anything but depend on me, and I work hard to make my husband glad that he knows me. i work hard to attempt to give back to all the people who take such good care of me. I may never repay all of you, but I will keep trying.

Whine, whine, whine- can't I do anything else. Um, no.

Yeah, have I ever written here about how I have always been especially prone to coming down with walking pnemonia and bronchitis? And how when I was sixteen I got for-real pnemonia and it lasted a really long time? And how on Thanksgiving that year I coughed until I cracked a rib and my parents had to take me to the emergency room and they took an x-ray and showed me the little crack and I thought, wow? Seriously, from coughing?

Yes, well that has happened again. When I woke up yesterday I noticed that when I coughed I had really intense pain in my right ribs. Now I'm waiting for my doctor to call me back and tell me what the best plan of action is- work, no work, medicine, no medicine, vodka and a shotgun, no vodka just the shotgun.

Reed has a doctor's appointment this afternoon to check out his eyes; they've been red and gooey for almost two weeks now. I'm quite sure it's not pink eye, but I just want to make sure that it's not anything serious or out of the ordinary. My allergies are so gross that I figure it might just be the pollen irritating them, but I'd like to make sure.

Have I ever written here about how my friend Misty had a strep infection in her eye when we were in middle school? And how Jason was diagnosed with strep throat on two days ago? Yes, well I just want to make sure that Reed doesn't have STREP EYE or something else equally horrifying.

Jason's car broke down yesterday, and the dish washer and kitchen sink are both leaking grotesque food-water underneath our house and it STINKS. Those are the things that Jason is working on while I sit here writing on the internet, waiting for my doctor to call, or for Jesus to take me home, whichever happens first.

Don't they have any cling wrap or anything?

Kane has informed us that today was a busy day at his school. One kid got suspended for bringing porn to school, another kid had a seizure, and an eighth-grade girl is pregnant.

Kane's day got even busier when I fell into the floor and started having a seizure of my own.

Seriously, this is what we have to deal with now. I imagined that we would have to worry about this stuff when Kane got to high school; I just got shafted out of two years of preparation time. Where "preparation time" stands for "heavy drinking".

I know that this stuff happens; I know that this 13-year-old girl isn't the first thirteen-year-old girl to get pregnant. I KNOW IT. But, just like people imagine that their children will be well-behaved, quiet, contemplative, calm, patient, people imagine that their children won't have sex until they're, I don't know, OLD ENOUGH TO DRIVE TO THE CHEVRON TO BUY CONDOMS. Seriously, that girl can't get her own contraceptives, and now she's pregnant. It's actually the fault of the DMV.

My point is that just as I have come to terms with the fact that my children are going to misbehave, yell, hit, and writhe, I am starting to fear that I will have to come to terms with driving my child's girlfriend to the doctor for prenatal care, since my child won't be old enough to drive her himself. Hell; my child's pregnant girlfriend's PARENTS might not be old enough to drive her there- less and less surprises me.

What I'm saying is that parenting is not for me. Nevermind. I'm returning all three of them tomorrow. Now I just have to find the receipt.

P.S. Kane was just telling us that in his English class they had to write and autobiography including some things they want to do in the future. "By the time I'm thirty I want to be the first man to land on an asteroid and discover a new metal." So I probably don't have to worry about the sex stuff for at least a few more years.

Single-handedly keeping Stayfree in business.

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Originally uploaded by buffpuff

I haven't been writing enough lately. It has something to do with my INTENSE EXHAUSTION- it causes me to pay less attention to the things that aren't absolutely necessary to make it from getting out of the bed in the morning to getting into the bed at night.

I am now the proud owner of one less baby and one more little boy. It is truly bizarre how much he understands and can communicate on a daily basis. He tells me what makes him sad, what makes him happy, when he's hungry and thirsty, when he's tired. He listens when I'm talking to other people and asks me questions about the stories I tell.

Living with Kane, Jude, and Reed is unlike anything I could have possibly predicted for myself. They are loud, rough, funny, irreverent. Some days it's like living with every male friend and boyfriend I've ever had, except at the end of the day I still want to be around them.

I mean, you know, most of the time.

Anyways, most days I lean heavily on patience, perseverance, Jesus, instinct, and the telephone to make it through.

Last night I actually found myself in bed, reading, and thinking that I couldn't wait until bedtime tonight. I was in my bed, and longing for being in my bed, just 24 hours later. Wrap your head around that one. I just knew that today would be a test, a wonderful day that would start with a lot of candy, so much sugar that Reed would vibrate, and that Jason would be at work all day, that there would be laughter and wonder but many, many fits and tantrums and misunderstandings and impatience. And today was beautiful and affirming and lovely, and long and exhausting.

The first period I had since November is still here, still happening, one month long so far. This is a condition I've been dealing with since I was thirteen years old, and I've been to numerous doctors countless times to try and deal with it. When it flares up like this it is so consuming that it becomes difficult to see past it, to remember that there MIGHT be a time again when I won't have to carry 17 pounds of lady supplies, along with iron pills and ibuprofen, everywhere I go, that the intense and lasting rushing hormones won't control my emotions forever, that one day I will be normal again.

That last one is a real stretch; I think I won't hold my breath.

I'll take the high road, and you take the low road.

So we went out for St. Patrick's Day last night, which was a triumph over the germs and illness and lung crap I've been experiencing for the past week. I have to say that I just can't party like I used to. I mean, I DID party like I used to, but I spent this whole entire day feeling totally obliterated, nauseated and headachy, and it was the antithesis of fun. Last night, however, was the THESIS of fun. There were jello shots and green beer and sequined bow ties and puppies and much needed laughter.

I don't think Reed has pink eye, but something is wrong with him and I'm not sure what. I think maybe the pollen is coming in and it's just affecting him adversely. We'll see.

Today I was off work; tomorrow it's back to the grindstone. Perhaps this incredible hangover will have worn off by then.

Bird flu?

This is what happens...
Originally uploaded by cuttingroomfloor

Bronchitis? I don't know. Whatever it is, it's hanging around for a second week. The fever is gone, as well as that pesky sense that I am just about to die from all the mucus. My nose is only partly stopped up. But my eyes and nostrils still feel hot and fat, and I'm still using my inhaler four or five times a day.

So, all in all, some is, some ain't.

I went to the craft shop one day week-before-last, right before the plague came to my house, and totally loaded up on my favorite polymer clay. I went in thinking, "I'm going to buy one or two new colors to make new stuff for our show." Then it was on sale for much cheaper than normal, and the next thing I knew I had a basket full of stuff. The sad part is, I'm looking at this picture and thinking, "Wait, I didn't get any greens!"

I'm feeling like Jason and I are in the midst of this whirlwind of opportunities and we're grasping at all of them, and waiting to see what we have in our hands once the weather calms down. No matter what happens, it feels good to be striving for something.

Now we're just waiting for tomorrow morning when we can discern whether or not Reed has the pink eye.

It is NEVER boring in this house.

There's a picture opposite me of my primitive ancestry.

I forgot to mention that They Might Be Giants was FANTASTIC. I've seen them once before in Atlanta at the Roxy Theatre, about a million years ago- seven years? Six? I've slept since then, so I don't really know.

Anyway, when I was telling Jason that he must go with me to see them I said, "There will be BALLOONS and CONFETTI. Of course you're going."

We went on Sunday night to Workplay despite Jason's stomach virus and my possible impending stomach virus- Reed threw up a couple of times on Friday and is STILL having diarrhea. My day today started off with my thinking that I might die because my chest is so tight and congested and then having the distinct pleasure of cleaning poop off one of my kitchen chairs. Where it had exploded out of the TOP of the back of the pull-up. Jealous?

Yes, so we went and sort of cautiously started nursing a beer apiece and listened to Oppenheimer who were opening, and we were quite pleased. I laid into a couple more beers and took some pictures and it was nice. Of course they sold out, and we didn't get there until 8:10 when the doors opened at 8:00, for Pete's sakes, so there wasn't any place to sit. But we found a nice place to stand where we could see the stage really well, and I thought about the show at the Roxy where I was about a football field away from the band and thanked life for tiny blessings.

Right before the headliner went on a couple of guys took the stage and started throwing big, foam fingers out into the audience. These were the last pictures I took before a Mrs. Hoss security woman took me outside and told me that only one person was aloud to take professional shots of the band, so I couldn't take any. I used some meditation-style breathing and just kept my mouth shut; Jason took the camera to the car and we went back in just as They Might Be Giants took the stage.

And, just as I promised, there was confetti and balloons. They played a good set list- a nice mix of new songs and old stuff. I have to admit that I don't know that new stuff but I like it. Lincoln, Apollo 18, and Flood are the albums that I know best. They played Birdhouse In Your Soul, and I couldn't stop smiling, I mean my cheeks hurt by the end of it. Then during the encore I leaned up to Jason and said, "Oh, they're going to play Istanbul." He looked at me skeptically and said, "Hm. I don't now; maybe." And then, like clockwork, they closed with Istanbul.

I told Jason after the show that in a way I understand the desire to be unpredictable and to keep moving forward and do new stuff and get appreciation for it. But I've been listening to that band for ten years now, and it's like hugging and old friend to hear them play some of my favorite old songs.

But it's still nowhere near as satisfying as cleaning poop of off my two-year-old's shoulder blades.

Hep meh!

Okay; sorry for my absence. Here's a quick update:

Vomit, diarrhea, bronchitis, oh my! My doctor said, "You know, you've had a hard year." I said, "You don't know the half of it."

We got our tax refund a couple of weeks ago, and as a result livin' has been easy, at least easier than usual for a while. This is the one time of year when the kids have lunch money and the bills get paid and we stop to breathe for just a minute.

Jason and I are showing our photographs, jewelry, and possibly some artwork on April 17 at Speakeasy, and I am awfully excited about it. Now if I can just kick the liquid in my bronchial areas maybe I can actually prepare.

I have a lot of things in store for my jewelry-making, but I might not be listing any of it until after the show. It makes sense to make tons and tons of new stuff and have it there for sale and just hold off on listing things until after. So my Etsy will probably slow down for the next few weeks, but I'll be back in full force on April 18. Or, let's face it, it'll be a few days after that.

I asked Reed this morning how he feels, and he replied, "Well, I feel good." It's nice having a miniature, white James Brown in my house. I hope I'll feel good, too, in a few days.

Five things.

1. I am very much looking forward to a girly night with one of my many bitches this Wednesday night.

2. I am very much looking forward to Officer Nick's birthday party this Saturday night- put a keg, some policemen, at least one police car, two photographers, and the Party Bot all in one location and something odd is sure to happen.

3. I am pooping my pants about seeing They Might Be Giants Sunday night. I didn't even know that they're coming until Jason clued me in last night. Needless to say within five minutes, two tickets were mine.

4. I am hopeful about a trip to Mexico for New Year's Eve this year. The last time Jason and I went on a vacation that lasted more then 2 days and that didn't involve sleeping over at a friend's house was when we went on our honeymoon- four-and-a-half years ago.

5. Upon thinking about this trip to Mexico, I am realizing that Reed will be three years old when we take this trip. I can't really clearly describe the way this makes me feel. It's very surreal, actually, like, there will be this little dude in my house who somehow sprung from the baby my body made. But instead of being my baby, he'll be... a little dude.

And a post script: I have now been at this job for one year. People Who Accuse Me of Stealing Sunglasses, People Who Throw Boxes At Me, People Who Talk To Me Like I'm An Idiot, YOU CANNOT GET ME DOWN. I throw down celebratorily on all your asses.

Reply with a star date and coordinates for rendezvouses.

You are going to have to read this, and just keep reading all the way to the end, all the way through the comments that people left at the bottom. This had me laughing several different times. Here are some of my favorite moments:

this sounds pretty koo

I do not speak Klingon,
How ever I am open to interspecies relationships.
I am starfleet and have a uniform.
I am 6'2 w hazel eyes.
reply with a star date and coordinates for rendezvouses.

I have an hedonistic and somehow artistic point of view about of life, made of perfect scenes, days like music, hours like paintings and sex like pictures.

Just thought I would write because I make a mean roasted turkey...

The lizard king approves of your post and gives it 5 blue buses.

Stormy weather.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Last night the ominous, indifferent sound of the sirens woke me up around 3:30 a.m. I tripped over about 7 toys and a couple of odd shoes until I made my way to the living room, where I turned on the television to find red and fuschia flashing patches over maps of my county and my city. Jason and I watched and realized that it was moving quickly towards us, and I actually started to get nervous. Jason was due at work at 4 a.m., so he left for work during the calm before the storm; all was quiet, and he said everything would be fine.

About two minutes after he left, the house was surrounded by an intense whirring noise, which I finally figured out was "just the wind". Next came heavy rain and hail, and anything that wasn't tied down around the house was flying about, knocking up against the outside walls. The cable went out, so no more weather updates on the news. I sat on the futon holding a flashlight and my cell phone and waited- for something to happen, for a gut feeling that I needed to wake up all the kids and hustle them into the bathroom, for the urge to poop. I called my mom and her power was out but she said that the worst had already passed and it would probably pass us in the next couple of minutes. We got off the phone and I waited and sure enough, minute by minute the wind and rain got quieter. The hail stopped.

By 4:30 I was falling asleep to the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof, not realizing how bad the damage would be, not realizing that all around us people would be cleaning garbage and limbs and pieces of their own homes and lives out of their yards, not realizing just how lucky we are.


This morning the air around us smells intensely like a sawmill, so much so that it's turning my stomach a little bit. The police have our street blocked off to try and divert some of the traffic that's coming through just to get a look at the worst of the damage. The kids are home, the schools closed. I think a lot of people are still without power; ours never even went off. And right in the middle of all the bad luck, the complaining I've done, I am reminded that it can always get worse. Today I'm thankful to have a roof, a heater that works, little sweet people around me, and a husband who can drive from Leeds to Mountain Brook in the middle of a really awful storm unscathed.

Love, Buffy.

Coming home from a trip is always depressing for me; I'm not really sure, maybe it's the end of something I've looked forward to, or having to leave the people I've been dying to see, or going back to work, or going back to a stinky catbox and moldy leftovers in the fridge. Whatever it is, it's the way it's always been.

Today I'm particularly overwhelmed; I'm not afraid to reveal that I am having the first period I've had since the beginning of November. It has been a while, and the intense rush of hormones is really hitting me hard tonight. The melancholy and fear and loneliness and just the absolute ache, it's like a large blunt object hitting me in the back of my head from inside my stomach.

It's a bad night for the Oscars, and YES, the Oscars should always be planned around my menstrual cycles, because every speech and every look and all the subject matter is just keeping me in tears and I'm running out of tissues.

I've always been a movie-watcher, a person who enjoys films- comedies, tragedies, documentaries, musicals, cartoons, whatever there is. There was a time when I knew a lot about film, the making of, the content of, the best actors and best performances. I am no longer so much in the know. Since I had Reed I have been, shall we say, emotional, and it makes me avoid things that bring too much to the surface. Really, the sadness or fear or regret that a good movie brings out in me will last days, sometimes weeks, and I've found myself in a place where I just don't even pay attention to what's coming out and what's on dvd and what's nominated and who's a hopeful, if only as a defense mechanism. I'm too afraid, really, of what I might feel and how long it might take to go away to get involved. It's sad, because when I was invited to join an Oscar pool I realized that I hadn't seen a single film that had been nominated in any category this year. While it's true that the pool was about guesses, whether educated or not, and I was welcome to join in and give my best guess regardless, it's still sad to think how much good shit I'm missing. I mean, I'm thoroughly aware that I chose not to see the movies, that this isn't something that is being done to me or something that is just happening to me, but it's still all sad.

In other words, I'd be sad if I was watching them, and now I'm sad that I'm not watching them.

Right now someone needs to be handing Jason a medal for staying married to me.

Anyway, I decided that I would write the Oscar speech that I will give if ever I win one. I mean, with all those speeches about not giving up and never recognizing the impossible, I am realizing that I could one day win an Oscar in any one of the many categories. So I decided to think about what I'd like to say.

Thank you to the Academy for recognizing my intense dedication to my craft. This Oscar for Best Jokes Ever/Most Stylish, Affordable, and Unique Jewelry Ever/Best Most Serious Actress/Best Friend/Most Attention to the Picking Up of Socks/Best On-Set Cheerleader/Best Keep-Your-Drinks-Full Lady really means so much, because it reinforces my deep love of actors, movies, entertainment, and the art of getting away from it all (thank you, Jack Nicholson).

Thank you to my husband for being able to deal with it all, for taking care of my children when I can't, and for being so supportive, attentive, unwavering, trustworthy, and so different from every other man I've ever spent any time with.

Thank you to all the other people in the film- Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Çasey Affleck, I love you all. I'm sorry that I can't say yes to all of your lovely, heartfelt marriage proposals, but Jason Agan is a sexy motherfucker, too hot for words really, but just in case he ever wises up and leaves me I'll keep your numbers so I can call you and cry and read you haikus that I wrote for Jason that he won't respond to when I send them to him on Myspace.

Thank you to Russell Means, Sherman Alexie, John Kennedy Toole, and Kurt Vonnegut for writing that makes me at once so sorrowful and joyous that it has inspired me to keep living, if only to see if maybe life is as interesting, as heart-breaking, as unforgiving and callous, as rewarding as you all make it out to be.

Thank you, finally, to God and my mother for bringing me into this world that is so terrifying, horrifying, beautiful, and odd, but bringing me into a particular place where I am not in the middle of a war, not physically or mentally abused, not afraid for my life (in an immediate sense), not homeless, not alone, not forsaken. Thank you both for giving me this life in which I am surrounded by these crazy, ridiculous people who love me and take care of me, without whom I would be so lost, so lonely, so abjectly pointless, that I would have to just bash myself on the head with this Oscar and get it over with. Thank you for bringing me into a world where there is a Reed to talk to me about playing guitar with his pick, where there is an Aunt CJ and an Uncle Rog to laugh with me and remind me why life should be celebrated and to teach me how to make a latte, where there is a Kristi to come home to even if I have to wait a few days because she's in law school WHAT AN EXCUSE, where there are beaches and big water and sand and family and parties and dancing. AND DANCING.

Thank you, Nick Agan, for not ripping my arms out of their sockets. This has allowed me to keep writing, keep typing, and keep picking my nose at red lights.

And thank you, True Baker, for just letting me know that there exists a seven-foot-tall, John Kennedy, Jr. look-alike who is sweet and loves his mother and asks me to dance. You may not be quite as sexy as my tattooed, red-headed husband, but that's an awful lot to live up to, especially with all that equine-vetting you have to do, and I will definitely recommend you to all of my friends.

The bayou, Aunt CJ, the Jimmy I never knew, and a wedding tomorrow.

Tonight has been a night of telling tales, reliving old times, relating more recent ones, and just plain, old making shit up. Maybe not making shit up, but wondering if we were.

I feel a lot like this life is a really, awfully hard one, for everybody really, and there are stories and moments and memories and just things imagined that break my heart.

Tonight Jason is asleep like a baby, deeper and more sound than I've seen him in a long time, goosedown and a kitty named Elliott singing his lullaby.

I'm sleeping on a bayou tonight, and the air is thick with things untold and things waiting to happen.

Mama, I love you and I'm sorry that your life is so hard. I hope that the things I've done to make it harder haven't been too much to bear. I hope that the good things I've brought to you have been enough to make you happy that I'm here. I hope that you can get past all the things that have made you sad, all your gut-wrenching disappointments, to find joy in guitars, picks, footballs and xylophones.

Tonight I go to bed waiting for Biddy to tell me that everything is going to be okay. I know that it probably will be, but it's nice when a dead person takes the time to tell you.

I would like some wine with this cheese.

So on Sunday Kane and Jude's bikes were stolen. They were on the carport, chained to a post with a titanium bicycle chain. It was midday, and I was at home. No shit- someone apparently came up and cut through the "impenetrable" titanium chain and hauled off two medium-sized trick bikes in broad daylight, while I was in my bed complaining about all the aches and snot.

Jason came home and was like, "Do you know where the kids' bikes are?" I was like, "NO. But I know where the FLU is. RIGHT HERE, BUDDY." But don't worry; then my indignation set in.

My flu-induced stupor kept me from encouraging Jason to call the police and file a report until he came home from work last night telling me about seeing some 15-year-old kid riding Kane's bike around just a mile or two away from here. Finally I was like, "Wait a minute! Before you go beat up a minor, how 'bout we call the cops?" Of course Jude was raring to go with Jason looking for this kid, and I let Jude know that if his dad was going to go abuse a child, he would have to stay at home. (He moped.)

So the policeman came over and got all the information from Jason; the entire time they were on the front porch talking, Jude was standing at the front door staring out with little hearts bubbling up above his head.

Reed heard Jason talking and asked what he was doing. I said, "He's outside, talking to a policeman." Reed thought about it for a minute and then exclaimed, "EWWWWWWWWW, NASTY!!"

So the policeman said the description sounded like someone they had busted several times stealing bikes, and said he'd call us if they found anything. We haven't heard back yet. It IS kind of sad, though; they haven't had the bikes for long, and they were kind of expensive. Plus, it's the SECOND time Kane's has been stolen.

For Pete's sake, we really need a break around here.

Scratch, scratch, scritch scratch.

So last night, totally exhausted, Jason and I snuggled up in bed around ten. Jason wasn't in the best mood because I had nagged him to fold a load of jeans while I washed the dinner dishes, so when we started hearing the scampering, scraping and scratching above our heads he wasn't happy.

I've mentioned the squirrels fucking in our ceiling; last night they weren't so much fucking as squirreling- scratching about, making noises, just generally making angry the man of the house. Jason got up and banged on the ceiling a few good times, which did nothing whatsoever. He went poking about and stepped into our closet to have a listen from there; he said, "Buffy. Come here."

I stepped into the closet and followed his pointing finger to discover a little hole in the ceiling, a little place where something had popped or scratched or scraped through the popcorn.

I have to tell you, I NEARLY SHAT MYSELF. Now I can't stop thinking about squirrels and rodents and RABIES, RABIES, people. It has made it's way into the house!! It has GUTS and GUMPTION and I will run away if I see it. Jason jammed a small suitcase underneath it so whatever has been poking its rabies-laden nose through there can do so no longer, but now I'm thinking, it'll just do it again! Next thing I know there will be little holes everywhere in the ceiling, with little noses and eyes poking through! GROSS. SCARY. I mean, what we heard last night was likely the sounds of the next hole, the next stop on the way to Buffy's insanity.

It's a short trip.

I think I'm turning orange.

I finally managed to get some new things up on Etsy tonight, and I'm feeling pretty good about it. I got a request to make some earrings to match one of my pendants; hopefully I'll be able to work on that tomorrow night.

I'm fighting tooth and nail to not be a sick person; I take a multivitamin and a B complex every day already. Now I'm taking an extra C tablet, and using Airborne three times a day. And still my throat hurts, and my chest feels tight and sore.

I really, really don't want to be sick. This Friday will mark the end of a week in Hell at my job, and it will be the birthday of one of my favorite girls in the world. Also Jason and I are miraculously both off work on Saturday which never happens, so Friday will be the perfect night to go out and celebrate IF I can just not be sick.

Don'tbesickdon'tbesickdon'tbesick.

The good things in life are free.

I know that I've been writing a lot about the bad things lately, and I'm glad that you have been sticking with me through all of it. I decided it might be good for all of us if I made note of some of the good things.

- I've been making a lot of pretty jewelry these days. I haven't had a chance to post it on Etsy yet, but I'm sure I'll get to it in the next few days.

- Kane, Jude, and Jason are on the mend. I think Kane and Jude will go back to school tomorrow, and Jason is off work tomorrow so he still has one more day to rest and recuperate.

- I haven't gotten fired.

- At the very heart of it, when I can get away from the absolute insanity that is my job, I really like the actual work that I'm doing. It's creative and intense and never, never dull.

- People read this blog and comment.

- Jesus is listening.

- I have not been buying anything off of eBay. Apparently I make jokes that are SO awesome, people don't get it.

- Sometimes I sleep for, like, eight hours at a time.

- I eat breakfast almost every day.

-Reed and I haven't gotten the flu.

- My family and friends are sweet and caring and funny and concerned and fun and I have fun when I'm with them.

- My husband is smokin' hot. Even with all the snot and body aches and coughing.

- My two-year-old child told me today that I'm pretty. I might not always agree with him, but I know that I'm trying to be pretty. And at least I am to him.

Clorox wipes- check. Vitamin C- check. Large bottle of vodka- check.

It really only gets better and better around here. I'm entering a time of year at my job, a period of a couple of weeks in which everyone I work with goes totally bonkers, stiff with dread. I've gotten a lot of advice over the past few days since this is my first time to attempt to traverse the insanity at this establishment during the Valentine's day season. I've been told to eat my Wheaties, take my vitamins, bring snacks, pack a flask, duck and cover- the list goes on and on. We've been givin several sheets of typed instructions, flat and black, ominous on the paper, on what to ask and inform every single person we talk to on the phone.

Given the seriousness, the absolute terror this season inspires, my boss rather matter-of-factly told me that regarding my children I need to make sure I "make other arrangements" for the next couple of weeks. She was referring to the fact that any time one of them is sick, I call in to work and stay home with them. If Jason is off work, he stays with them, and sometimes my mom stays home from work with them, but usually it is I. I don't ever expect to find a job where they tell me "you know it's really fine for you to call in any time you want to", but I also really don't know what other options we have when it comes to sick children. I mean, Kane is almost 12, so pretty soon he'll be old enough to stay home alone. But Jude is 8 and Reed is 2; they just might still need some supervision.

Nonetheless, I've been told to make other arrangements. OH BUT GUESS WHAT? Jason, Kane, and Jude all have the flu! The absolute motherfucking influenza! It's great news, right? Now yesterday I went all over the house Clorox-wiping in hopes that Reed, Jason, and I might not catch what Kane and Jude have; Jason came down with it, Reed appears to be okay, and I've been nauseated, nasally, hot-eyed, and slightly sore-throated all day. The only good news is that I've been feeling mildly like this for about a week-and-a-half now, so maybe it won't go any further than this.

In other news, I chose all of this. I totally forgot that I ordered postpartum depression off of eBay for $17.34 plus shipping. Damn! I missed the 7 day return period, too, as I purchased it in December 2005. Stupid, stupid me.

Working together.

Mm, fighting with Kane and Jude's mom about whether or not she's going to grow up and take care of her kids every now and then is just so refreshing. I was going to write out the entire exchange, but suffice it to say that she wants to let us do all the work even though we each actually work 40 hours a week AT JOBS, and then take care of three children; the fact that we worry about bus schedules, field trips, lunch money, homework, and clean underwear with absolutely no financial assistance from her isn't enough. She also feels like if the kids are sick we should be calling in to take them to the doctor and feed them chicken soup. While she sits at home and smokes cigarettes and buys cars.

Nice, huh?

I was thinking today that I'm ready for a new tattoo, and I'd like to find something lovely that somehow represents my most recent resolution- that I'm going to start letting people know if they're hurting my feelings or wronging me in some way. And then it hit me- I just need a big tattoo of a bird. Right on my forehead. Obviously I'm not talking about Tweety here; I need a good old-fashioned, long, skinny, erect middle finger right in the middle of my head.

Because, really, it would save me so much time, breath, and energy to be able to just show people what I'm thinking in the first place.